Toy Trains
by alizabethianrose
Summary: Colt is desperate to find a way to slow Punk down, he was just hoping for a much different way than what happened. With every look, every I love you, Colt feels him slipping away, is there a way to slow down time? Slash! Colt/Punk


**Typical disclaimers are found here. This is slash, I own no one, adult themes, mature rating for a reason. now on to the story!**

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I am not sure how to slow him down, Punk, he is like this freight train barreling along the tracks, and I'm a hobo running alongside trying to hitch a ride, jump on board without failing beneath the train. At times though I feel like I am a passenger, only now I race to the front of this beast, hoping to find the brakes, tugging relentlessly to find they have failed. So then I find myself waiting for him to derail us, sending us hurtling off the tracks into certain disaster. It always ends with disaster when it involve my Punkers. I'm not sure where this train is heading but I guess my only choice is to hold on tight for the ride and hope for a change that we don't crash and burn.

When I arrive at my apartment and see him, sprawled on my couch sound asleep while some documentary plays on the history channel I can't help but smile. His days off which are few and far between I always find him here, I am starting to wonder if he knows what his own house even looks like. I flip the TV off and cover him with a blanket, heading into my tiny office to get some work done and upload the newest edition of my padcast. It's a few hours later when he have stumbles have walks into my office, blanket wrapped tightly around him. He trips on the bottom a few times and I watch carefully, noticing that something is off with him. He plops into my lap, and his head snuggles into my shoulder. I run my fingers through his short hair, glad he is letting it grow back. "It's cold in here" I lift his head looking into his eyes, noticing the glassy look.

"Punkers it's like a furnace in here, did you turn up the heat." He nods and wraps himself tighter in the blanket. I frown and press my lips to his forehead, he feels slightly warm, but not so hot that I would be overly concerned. "Do you feel okay?" He nods and then shrugs, so I have no real answer there.

"I don't know, tired, really tired, and in pain, but that's pretty normal for me. I guess I just am rundown. The nap should help, maybe I just need to go to the gym or something get energy back." I shake my head standing him in my arms, I carry him down the hall towards my bedroom, which in reality is ours. He has just as much shit as I do in this apartment, so why he owns that big house is beyond me. I place him down gently untangle him from the blanket and cover him up tightly.

"Have you talked to a doctor recently?" He sighs and snuggles deeper into the bedding.

"Why bother Colt, how many times can they run tests without any results? They never find anything wrong, just tell me to take it easy, to slow down. Like that is going to happen, then they write me a damn note, and I take it to Vince who promptly ignores it and schedules me for more shit instead of less." I sigh and lie beside of him, pulling him close to me. I hate that he is not feeling well, and he hates feeling like a pin cushion but that does not mean we are going to ignore this. I search him gently pulling out his phone from the pocket of his jeans. I call his doctor's office and make an appointment, he whines slightly but doesn't protest and I know that he is not feeling well by this small admission.

I lay with him until he falls asleep, once he does I watch him, he tosses and turns, blankets are thrown off, then he is wrapped back in them. Normally when I hold him he sleeps deeply, he practically uses me as a pillow, and today he pushes me away, and then clings to me. Worry builds in my mind, so I slip from the bed, heading into the living room I make a call to Ace. I know in reality I've done all I can, the last months carting his ass to doctor's appointments, trying to force him to take time off, slow him down, make him rest. Yet none of this seems to be helping, my Punkers is ill, and I want answers. Ace can't provide them for me, but he can keep my racing thoughts in check. Which is exactly what he does, he reminds me that Punk has great people taking care of him, that the doctors working on his case are the best in the world, that this mysterious illness may be nothing ore then exhaustion. To keep reigning Punk in to the best of my ability.

I tell him to try slowing this speeding train down and see how it turns out for him, he laughs at me and tells me to use the emergency brake. I don't think I've ever tried that, never forced Punk to stop against his will. It's an idea that I will keep in the back of my mind for now. We talk briefly about other things, wrestling, the weather, but it all comes back to Punk. Then again it has always come back to Punk for me since the day I met him. I feel only slightly better when I get off the phone but at least I can return to his side. I get a large glass of ice water and walk back to the bed room, he is curled up in the middle of the bed, blankets on the floor and he is shivering. I sigh and cover him back up, waking him long enough to get fluids into his system, if this is the flu he needs to stay hydrated. I shed my clothing and return to the bed, he snuggles in and despite how warm I find the house I pull him close.

By morning I am dripping with sweat, and he looks no better. In fact I almost swear he appears more tired. He dresses slowly and I force some water into his system. Unsure of what tests they will run on him today. When we arrive at the doctor's he is cranky, He hates waiting, so him being cranky is a good sign. We don't wait long but he still bites the nurse's head off as she takes us back to a room. I can't hide the small smile that spreads across my face, relieved honestly that he still has some fight left in. The nurse takes his vitals and leaves us alone, no fifty questions and that makes me curious. When the doctor enters, don't ask me his name I cannot pronounce it, I shake my head needing to remind myself of all the degrees from the best schools he has on the wall. He is younger than us, probably graduated when he was ten or something. He sits across from Punk and sighs "tell me the symptoms Phil" Punk shrugs and I want to roll my eyes.

"Same as always, I'm tired, my body hurts, my head hurts, I'm too hot, or freezing" He jots some notes on the chart and begins looking over the file.

"Any vomiting?" Punk nods and the doc looks at him.

"Occasionally, not a lot but it happens."

"Diarrhea?" Another nod and I raise an eyebrow wondering how much he is keeping from me.

"The main thing is that I feel like I can sleep for twelve hours and still wake up exhausted and want to go back to bed." The doc continues to look over charts.

"How are your stress levels, do you feel depressed?"

"Stress is the same as it ever was, I'm not depressed when I have energy I feel good." He examines Punk and shakes his head slightly.

"Aright I'm going to order a full panel of blood work, another MRI, spinal tap, and an ACTH stimulation test." I see Punk roll his eyes but can't hold back the question I have.

"What is an ACTH stimulation test?" The doctor glances at me and Punk gives him a nod, the man should know by now Punk doesn't care what you sat in front of me.

"It is a test where we take your blood, to establish a baseline, then inject a person with ACTH, then we take your blood at certain intervals to test for certain level changes in the blood." Punk just nods and I want to shake him there are other questions to ask here.

"What is it looking for?"

"It can help determine adrenal fatigue, or Addison's disease, one of the many things I want to rule out." I nod and think, I want more answers but in all honesty I won't get them without the test being done first.

"Have you eaten today?"

"I know the drill doc, better if I don't test can be run that way." He nods at Punk, and we are once again off to the hospital to have the test run. Blood work, MRI, ACTH test, which keeps up there all day, more blood drawn, again and again making Punkers a very unhappy man. Finally the spinal tap, which takes unhappy to outrage, it didn't hurt him he told me, just a lot of pressure, and gave him a headache. I actually think it was the fact he wasn't listening in the doc's office and had no clue they were going to do one. Punker's doesn't like to hear shit if he can't argue about it.

I force him to eat and then put him to bed when we get home, he is asleep almost before his head hits the pillow. Another sign something is off, after a day like today Punk would normally go for a run, or work out use up all the energy he conserved by waiting around. He'd have raging insomnia and I would try to keep up with him, try to stay awake as he talks my ear off, nod like I'm following the conversation behind closed eyelids. I would startle awake several times and in the end would go to bed, leaving him hyped up. Instead I get exhausted Punk, and I have all this energy to spend myself.

How do I do this by getting on WebMD, I spend the night looking at every possible illnesses, diagnosing him in my mind repeatedly. I do research adrenal fatigue and Addison's disease relieved to see they both can be managed. It's the other things, disease with names that I can't pronounce, deadly, incurable illnesses that have the same symptoms as Punk. Then again a lot of illness cause all of Punk's symptoms, so many, too many to count really. I manage to freak myself out, call Ace several times, my mother a few, and basically annoyed everyone by waking them up. They talk me down, make me look at the logical, tell me to step away from the computer. I do but then I'm back and I'm calling again.

I check on Punk several times, he is still restless, and I wonder if that is why he doesn't feel rested, he is practically fighting a war with himself while he sleeps. I don't rest that night, or the next. I do manage to call the WWE doc and talk with him, getting Punk the rest of the week off. Punk doesn't protest when I inform him of this. Another reason for me to worry? I'm not sure, he lost his passion for wrestling a while ago, and I think there are days when he considers quitting.

Two days later we are back in the doctor's office, results are in apparently. I find it hard to breathe waiting for the doc to enter the room. Punk is staring a picture on the ceiling, some representation of art to sooth someone. He seems calm, resigned to whatever is going to be said, I reach out and take his hand and for some reason he gives me a reassuring smile. I close my eyes and shake my head, alls I can see in my mind is the tracks ahead, coming to a fork, both ways look treacherous, both horrifying turns at the speed we plunge ahead at. I grab the brake, pulling, praying, wanting to throw this bitch into reverse. Go back to a time before this, to a place that's safe. My hand hovers over the emergency break, scared to push it, petrified not too. I keep letting the train go down these tracks, and maybe it is time to slow it down, travel at my speed for a while. I still have stuff I need to say, we are not done yet by far. "I love you" he smiles and leans over giving me a very light kiss.

"Of course you do, you have to because I love you. Everything is going to be fine, I'm going to be fine." I nod and think to myself, fucked-up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional, sure Punk you are fine. When the door opens the doc enters, with a much older man, I swallow a specialist they brought in a specialist. My hand is on the emergency break, and I cling to it as I try to slow down time.

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**Okay so tell me what you think, this is suppose to be a one-shot but I'm not sure. Is it bad, good, or indifferent I want to hear from you all!  
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